Bully
by Faradork
Summary: Daniel has a bully after him. Charladay fluff. Set in the same universe as 'Q & A.'


I don't own _Lost_.

**A/N:** I've noticed that most Charladay fics feature Daniel and Charlotte sharing the same tent, and I wanted to explore exactly how that came about. So if you've written such a fic, a big thanks to you, because you inspired this.

Also, a big thanks to everyone who read my previous piece, _Q & A_.

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It has to be a record.

He's only been on the beach for a few hours, hardly enough time for someone to develop a grudge against him, and already he's got a bully after him. He expects that, once he's gone to sleep, they'll return to put his hand in a bowl of warm water in order to induce nocturnal emissions. It's odd, though, because he thought he was beyond this kind of thing. It's been a long time since he's had to look over his shoulder and worry about who might be watching him. He's not had to think about defending himself in a while. He used to have an equation to predict the success of him actually surviving a fight: height of his opponent multiplied by weight, divided by the square root of how small their fists make him feel. It never resulted in a win for him. He's surprised he stills remembers it.

Public school is not usually kind to the socially awkward. It was immature then, and it's even more so now. He used to keep a running count of events like this, because it's the only meaning he could find in it. _Number of different toilets given 'swirly' in: four. Number of different lockers shoved into: eight. Number of wet willies received: weekly average of fifteen._ He doesn't want to have to make a new tally, but he likes to be thorough and will leave no fact unchecked or unrecorded. He is, after all, a scientist.

_Number of tents destroyed while stranded on an island: one._

He's frustrated, infuriated, almost beyond words. An angry, desperate part of him wants to seek out the perpetrator, confront them, find out what their deal is; after all, he's been on this beach – what, all of four, five hours? Time moves strangely on this island so he can't quite be sure, but that sounds about right. What could he have possibly done in that space of time to offend _anyone_? Another part of him, the part that's scared and hurt and weak, just wants to sit down on the sand and let it all wash over him. He doesn't let that part take over, but it feels like a hollow victory.

After arriving on the beach they'd gone through the introductions, and he imagines it was then that he first slighted whoever his bully was. The grand tour included the kitchen area and water trough. The survivors' dwellings were all close together, because there's safety in numbers. They're like a little suburban community, though not nearly as conformed. "There's some empty tents further down," Jack says, waving a hand over to where, maybe eight or nine yards away, he sees other dwellings. The area is empty, quiet, and the tents all look abandoned. "You two are welcome to any of them."

Upon a closer look, though, it's clear that some of the dwellings are in a state of disarray. Bamboo poles fallen over; tarps strewn about, some with holes in them; a tree has fallen in on one dwelling. "They must have gotten wrecked in the storm last night," he remarks.

"You mean the storm that nearly crashed our helicopter?" Charlotte adds.

The only dwelling that's still standing is the one closest to the rest of the survivors. The tarp overhead has come untied and is hanging loose, but other than that it appears solid. It's clear that a lot of time went into constructing it. "This one looks pretty good," Charlotte says. She lifts the tarp up to examine it. He sees that it's slightly further away from the shore than the others; it's partly built into actual soil rather than sand. He comments on it.

"That's good, it won't erode away or anything." He tells Charlotte that she can stay there, that he'll build his own shelter.

He had been rather proud of his handiwork. He'd fixed up one of the other dwellings; tied a knot here, raised a pole there. With a palm frond he'd swept out the debris. Charlotte offered to help him but he was happy to do it on his own. He imagined this was what it was like to make something with your own two hands. It felt good. He felt useful. _Handy man Dan._ And as soon as his back was turned, it seemed, someone had come along and destroyed it.

He came back from the water trough (a trip that couldn't have taken more than five minutes, though what was time on this island?) to find the whole thing wrecked. The poles were lying broken, the tarp ripped in two, all the rope undone from his carefully planned and placed knots. The shelter was in worse shape than it had been before he'd started. This was no accident; this was sabotage.

He's part of a _science_ team, for Christ's sakes! He shouldn't have to deal with this! All his hard work for nothing, and it makes him feel useless, a feeling he's never quite gotten used to despite how frequent it's probably been in his life. While he's looking over his wrecked shelter, he hears a noise behind him: a gasp of surprise and shock. "Dan, what happened to your tent?" Charlotte's the last person he wants to see him like this, and yet she's the only person he wants around right now.

"Somebody, they – they knocked it over," he's able to get out. He doesn't like feeling weak and helpless in front of her. "Not even knocked it over, they just – they completely destroyed it. I don't – I just don't understand, why someone would do that." His voice is small and he wishes that it weren't. She leans down beside him and places a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, calm down, Dan. It'll be okay." She talks with an encouraging voice, and makes eye contact in a reassuring way. "Listen, why don't you just bunk with me in my tent?"

"Oh, no, Charlotte, I wouldn't want to – to intrude, or anything." Immediately he's on his feet, picking up the broken poles. He wants to prove to her than he can do this.

"Dan," she says with some force, and he can't help but look back at her, "Really, it's no trouble at all. There's more than enough room." She smiles all the way to her eyes. "It'll be just like a sleepover." The way she's looking at him, he can't help but cave in.

"Okay." He nods, and he's immediately feeling better. "Thank you, Charlotte. But just for tonight. I'm going to try to build another shelter tomorrow."

"Yeah, no problem. I'll help you out this time." She jerks her head back towards her own shelter. "Now come and help me clean out my tent."

"Oh, is something wrong with it?"

"No, it's just very – lived in," she remarks, "I asked one of the other survivors who it belonged to before, and they said it was some guy named Sawyer. They mentioned something about how he was a bit of a hoarder, and with the things I found in there I'd say that's an understatement."

"Things?"

"Well, most of it's just random effects, probably from their plane crash: clothing, food, medicine, stuff like that. A _lot_ of books, though. I'd say this Sawyer guy's got a pretty interesting taste in literature."

While they're cleaning out the shelter, she smiles, because she knows it's better this way. After all, if he doesn't stay with her, how will she be able to look after him? How will they have their nightly talks? If someone tries to hurt him in the night, how will she be able to protect him if he's not right there next to her? These are all possibilities that she imagines but does not want to realize.

She doesn't tell him that she was the one who destroyed his tent.


End file.
